The Captain's Study
by jelpy
Summary: A man's study is an ideal place to learn about his character


I must give full credit to my beta (No! She's MY beta...you can't have her!) Amy Flowers who gives wonderfully sage advice from the mild:   
  
"Are you sure this is in character?"  
  
To the Blunt: "Okay, that last sentence? It sucked."  
  
Who catches (most of) my spelling errors, who tells me that three fragments in a row STILL do not equal one sentence and who generally provides a great sounding board and wonderful moral support. And who would probably point out that my last sentence is not a sentence. Keep trying, kid. :)   
  
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Maria probably would not have entered the Captain's study had bedtime stories not become so complicated. However, Marta and Gretl loved betime stories, but didn't want to hear the same one twice and Brigitta (who always appeared in the room just in time to hear the stories along with Kurt, both of them insisting with studied indifference that they were too old for stories and weren't really listening) had suggested she try the Captain's study.  
  
"I'm not sure I should." Maria had received no information from Frau Schmidt or the Captain about his study and considered it to be off limits. She had never even opened the door to it, and had a vague mental image of an immaculate, severe militarily room bristling with weapons and a single ships wheel as the sole decoration.  
  
"Oh, Father likes us to read." Brigitta had explained. "We just have to put the book back where we found it."  
  
So with Gretl and Marta both waiting impatiently for their promised story, Maria gingerly opened the door to the Captain's study and peered inside at one of the most interesting and book rich rooms she had ever seen. The shelves took up three full walls and part of the fourth one, with more volumes piled up next to a leather couch in the middle of the room.  
  
The study was fascinating for more reasons than just the huge number of written material it held. For starters, it lacked the carefully sophisticated decorating scheme of the rest of the house. The desk was a battered looking walnut strewn with papers, including newsclippings in half a dozen languages and small pieces of paper with notes ranging from prosaic ('Write the abbey about a governess') to whimsical ('Humpty Dumpty was pushed!')   
  
The room was also stuffed with a wide variety of what could only be called junk. There were shark jaws ranging from small to unbelievably large on the top of the library shelves. Next to the desk was a large globe with notations scribbled on it ('here be dragons' it warned,) and against the walls and on scattered tables were drums, statues, musical instruments she didn't recognize and several file cabinets, most of which were locked. Oddest of all, the far corner held a very large, perfectly preserved snake with a small Chaplinesque mustache adorning its upper lip. The overall impression she got was of a man with eclectic interests and a slyly subversive sense of humor.   
  
The book shelves themselves were far more orderly. On the bottom shelves were volumes obviously intended for the children, everything from school texts to fairy tales. Further up the shelves was a small section devoted to religion. Religions, she realized with a second look; with material on Judaism, Buddism, Islam and even eastern orthodox Christianity. There was a sizable selection of history studies and an equally impressive collection devoted to literature and neatly organized by time period, country and topic. Near the top of the shelves was mathematics and science with a large number of books on weather, navigation and ocean currents. Several shelves were devoted to various humorists including Mark Twain and James Thurber. Also on the shelf was a fuzzy stuffed toy shark that squeaked when she picked it up. It was cute in a vaguely menacing sort of way and she wondered if it was the Captain's version of a teddy bear.  
  
As she expected, there was a huge area discussing military history, tactics and strategy. It appeared the Captain never tossed away a book in his life. She was fascinated by a section of books filled with indecipherable oriental markings, and one that showed a painful word by word Chinese to German translation in the Captain's handwriting that turned out to be "The Art of War, by Szun Tsu". After flipping through the other odd books she gathered they were a collection of debates on the first one. Each had been laboriously translated by the Captain it seemed, and she wondered how on earth he had learned to read Chinese; it must have taken him years.   
  
She turned the pages in what appeared to be a sort of Chinese writing primer and was startled when an opened envelope tumbled out scattering photographs on the floor. There was a note scribbled on top of the envelope: "Georg, guess what I found in a beer bottle yesterday? Thought you might want to see these, Drake" . Inside was a collection of a dozen or so beer scented photos, and she recognized a face both familiar and unfamiliar in the very first one.  
  
It showed a shirtless and barefoot Lt-or perhaps Ensign.-Von Trapp relaxed on a beach, surrounded by a group of perhaps 20 other shirtless and barefoot young men; all appeared to be in varying states of inebriation and seriously unmilitary. This would have been before the war she guessed. What struck her most about the picture was the Ensign's expression. He was laughing at something or someone off camera. His face was open and unguarded with the innocence of a child, which, she realized, he practically was. He didn't look much older than Leisl and the resemblance between the two was more striking than ever. On the back was a list of names, presumably identifying the participants in the photo.   
  
The next photo showed the same group with a more professional bearing but still looking impossibly young to be in the navy. Wearing neatly buttoned uniforms, polished boots and with their hair slicked back, the children-as she thought of them- weren't smiling but they looked happy and confident, almost arrogant. Another note in the unfamiliar handwriting was scribbled on the back: 'Off to war! I give the enemy three months at the most!'   
  
Several photos of various military ships followed that one. Maria assumed the ships meant something to the Captain or his friends, but to her they simply looked like boats. The next photo was jarringly different. At first glance it was the same group of officers, then she counted again, realizing several people were missing. The men....they no longer struck her as being children, were dressed in uniforms. On her employer's shoulder she glimpsed what looked like additional insignia; apparently he had been promoted. His expression was one of sober maturity, his clear eyed gaze steady and self assured if a bit sad. The note on the back revealed why: 'Burying Heinrich.' It was a funeral, she realized, and she wondered if it was the first one of his friends he had lost.   
  
The photo after that showed the group again, smaller still. Once again, the Baron had additional markings of rank, or so it seemed to her untrained eye. What was striking was the guarded, watchful aloofness he had in this picture, as if he was taking in the surroundings and guarding against an attack at any minute. His left hand was wrapped in bandages and he was leaning on a cane. Unlike the previous pictures, it was impossible to tell what he was thinking or feeling at the time the photo was snapped. On the back was another list of names, this time with several additonal names left off.   
  
The next photo showed the Captain...and this time his uniform specifically showed his rank as a Captain, sitting on a ship with another officer. His posture was straight, but his shoulders drooped slightly with fatigue. His expression was chilly, unreadable and completely closed. It was difficult to believe this was the same laughing, open faced boy she had seen in the first photo.  
  
The last photo was the most painful to see. The twenty or so faces of the first photo narrowed down to five. Of those, one man was missing a leg, another man was horribly scarred across his face with part of his jaw missing. Unlike the previous two pictures the Captain's expression was easy to read: despair, exhaustion and cynicism echoed from his eyes. Like the other men in the photo, he looked badly underweight and close to physical collapse. He also gave the contradictory impression of weariness and restrained anger all at one time. He had an unsettlingly controlled intensity that she recognized in the man she had met last week.   
  
"Fraulein Maria?" Brigitta's voice pulled her out of her reverie. "Did you find a book for Gretl and Marta's bedtime story?"   
  
"Oh," Maria had completely forgotten why she was there. "I'm sorry, I lost track of time. Which one did you say was their favorite?"  
  
"Grimm Fairy Tales." Brigitta plucked the book from the shelf, then caught sight of the photo's in Maria's hand. "What are those?'   
  
Maria hastily fumbled for the envelope, slightly embarrassed by the alcoholic fumes that surrounded her. "Just some pictures; they must of been used as a bookmark."  
  
Brigitta peered at the photos with interest. "Are they pictures of Mother?" She asked.  
  
"No." Maria told her honestly. "It looks like they're just friends of your Father."   
  
Brigitta's face fell. "Oh.'" she said with obvious disappointment.   
  
Maria reached out to stroke one of the glossy braids. "Will you take the book upstairs for me? I'll be right up."   
  
Brigitta smiled, her good nature winning out over disappointment. "Don't read anything with a wicked stepmother," she advised. "They always make Gretl nervous."   
  
Maria smiled as the girl left the study, then flipped though the photos one more time before she replaced them in the envelope where she found them and left to read the little ones their story. For the rest of the evening part of her mind was on the smiling, happy boy of the first picture, innocently unaware of the brutal war about to shatter his world, and the world weary, brooding man of the last picture who had watched it happen. For the life of her, she couldn't tell who she felt sorrier for. 


End file.
